


Better

by BellasHope



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dean helps Roman out this time, Fluff without Plot, M/M, No Smut, Pet Play, Praise Kink, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellasHope/pseuds/BellasHope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doubling as the champ and one of the currently most hated superstars can be a little much sometimes. Add the return of a certain opportunity stealing traitor trying to take what's his and Roman's shocked he's hasn't completely broken down yet, but he's close. Dean decides to play a card that'll bring Roman some peace of mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better

**Author's Note:**

> a little gift for my friend on tumblr who gave a full complete list of their kinks and i did a thing

Roman’s on edge, that much is obvious. He paces the hotel room so aggressively; it has Dean wondering how he’s not burning a trail into carpet.

Last time he checked, he had the air conditioner turned on, but Roman’s got the room feeling like he’s personally invited the fucking sun.

What Roman lacks in words, he makes up for in presence, in emotions. It’s a lot, damn near suffocating when he allows someone, permits Dean, to see and feel how he’s feeling.

At this point in their relationship, Dean prides himself on being able take it. He finds it an advantage that he’s such a glutton for punishment and a masochist to pain, especially when Roman happens to fall into one of his moods.

One made up of nothing but absolute rage and calls for a rampage. On any other given day, Dean would feed off of it, (he loves Roman in a destructive state of mind), he would ride along it like one of the numerous, seemingly never ending roads that stretch across Nevada and even influence Roman to do something he would otherwise say no to, but today’s not one of those days.

Roman’s feeling hostile, but not at some outside source, no, at himself. It’s one of those self-deprecating shit storms he had every now and then that Dean abhors with a passion. Because Roman’s not all of those disgusting things the audience jeers at him, and he’s ten million times better, skill wise and just in terms of being a decent person, then he gives himself credit for.

Of course, it pisses Dean off to no end. If he could eliminate all of Roman’s problems in one blow, he would, but he can’t, so he does his best in trying to soften the stress as much as he can.

“Roman.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t seem to want too despite the nails clenched tightly into the apples of his palms and his sliver eyes lined with threatening tears. He continues his steady steps to and fro from one point of the room to the other.

“Is it the crowds?” Stupid question, but it’s safe to ask nonetheless, easier to get to the root of the problem, because Dean knows Roman’s going to drag this out as much as possible.

As expected, he’s answered with silence, but his body twitches and Dean marks it as a check mark in his head.

“Title gettin’ to ya? I mean, I’ll hold on to it, if it’s too much.” Dean tries to joke. It works, a hint of a grin spreading on Roman’s lips and this time, Dean gets a headshake. When Roman turns on his heel, he’s frowning again.

Dean sighs, leaning back on his hands. “… Is it _him_?” He asks, treading lightly, not using a name on purpose. He sees he’s right to do so, because that makes Roman stop dead in his tracks.

Roman stares at the adjacent wall, jaw tight and brows furrowed.

Dean nods, finding the cause. He sits back up and holds a hand out to Roman, palm up. Obviously Roman’s having a full blown case of low self-confidence and second guessing, Dean doesn’t even need a complete explanation to see that, but he also can’t just give Roman a peck on the cheek and say everything’s going to be alright. All he really needs is his palm. Just… a hand.

“Roman.” He repeats, this time, his tone deeper. It wasn’t a call of attention, it was a demand, an expectance of obedience.

On cue, Roman’s body stiffens, then relaxes. He faces Dean, eyes wide in surprise, but there’s no hiding the excitement that rockets through them. It makes Dean smile, smirk really. Roman’s wanted this, probably for the longest time now, but he was too God damn stubborn to ask for it. Dean feels kind of bad now, for holding out on Roman when this was all he wanted. He could have made Roman’s troubles go away hours ago.

Dean hold out his hand, waiting for Roman to make the next move. It’s about ten seconds of a challenging glare and an internal back and forth, before Roman steps forward, leaving the path he’s marked in the carpet.

Roman takes the two and a half strides over to the bed, to Dean and stands tall in front of him. He stares down upon him, but Dean doesn’t make budge, keeping his hand in its place. His eyes, on the other hand, roamed, darkened, dared.

And Roman gladly took it, lowering to his knees, becoming face level with Dean’s hand. He pressed his nose against the inside of his palm, nuzzling into it, before giving a small lick.

“… Green…” Roman murmured, parting his lips and taking a Dean’s index finger into his mouth.

A huff of a laugh and Dean nodded his approval. He took his hand away, to which Roman frowned at. The bigger man scooted closer on his knees, placing his hands on Dean’s thighs. He looked up at Dean, a pout present on his lips.

Dean brought his hand back, this time to cup Roman’s cheek. His fingers skated over his heated skin, over his jaw line and into his hair, where he scratched gently at Roman’s scalp, the way he knew he liked it. Roman hummed his appreciation, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back a little.

“Nah. Tonight’s about you, baby. Just about you. Don’t think about anything or anyone else, you got me? Let me take care of you.”

Another hand carded through Roman’s fluffy locks, making Roman sigh in content.

“Answer me.”

Roman replied with a deep, but quiet bark, bringing a smile to Dean’s face. “Good.”

Dean took his hand back and placed it on the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Come.”

With no hesitation, Roman did as he was commanded, crawling onto the bed and into the space Dean told him too. Dean stood, muttering a quick, “Stay,” before walking over to his backpack. He leaned over, searched its front pocket and pulled out a bag of chocolates. He stood up straight, waving the bag in there and shaking it a little to make some noise for his puppy to hear.

Roman did, indeed, perk up at the sound, tilting his head slightly to the right.

“I know dogs aren’t supposed to eat chocolate, but I think I can make an exception.”

Dean took the couple of steps back and plopped back onto his seat on the bed. His free hand reinserted itself back into Roman’s waves of hair, guiding his head down onto his lap, while the other digs into the already opened bag.

“Roman.” He rasps, picking out a peanut butter cup. Roman turns in Dean’s lap, looking up at him with nothing but trust and innocence. Dean hovers the sweet over him and Roman closes his eyes and opens his mouth in tandem. Just before Dean drops it, he pulls away, and waits for Roman to notice. It doesn’t take long. Roman peeks with one eye at first, then both, staring up at Dean in confusion.

“You’re amazing, y’know?” Dean purrs. He doesn’t miss the sudden burst of pink on Roman’s cheeks either. “You’re better. You always will be. Fuck what everybody else says. Title’s yours and it’s gonna stay yours.”

Roman frowns then, opens his mouth to object, but Dean beats him to the punch. “Unless you’re about to safe word me, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. Dogs don’t talk, remember?”

Roman appears stunned, but he seals his lips, until Dean taps on them. “Open.”

Roman does and Dean rewards him with a treat. His nails scratch at Roman’s scalp once again and he takes great pleasure in watching Roman melt in his grasp.

_Relax. Destress. Know your worth. Stop worrying._

That’s all he wanted for him. That’s what his fingers were communicating, what this scene was about.

Dean pressed a kiss to Roman’s forehead, then his lips. “Don’t let them get to ya. I got the best damn puppy around, got that?”

Roman’s eyes shake, wanting to look away in embarrassment, but doesn’t because Dean hasn’t told him to. He revels in all of Dean’s affections, despite the looming dread of reality and his conflicting views. He needed this, needed his heart pounding with something other than anxiety.

He nods and huffs out a short, yet appreciative, “Arf.”


End file.
